


Hate to see him go

by Project0506



Series: Random YOI Silliness [3]
Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: But mostly Butts, Butts, Humor, M/M, Romance, The Occasional Thigh
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-09-03
Updated: 2017-09-14
Packaged: 2018-12-23 04:15:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 1,601
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11981925
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Project0506/pseuds/Project0506
Summary: But LOVE to watch him leaveOr: Viktor comes to realize he's a little bit of a leg man.Or: Oneshots exploring the healthy development of the relationship between Viktor Nikiforov and Katsuki Yuuri's Butt.





	1. Chapter 1

Viktor really really, _really really really_ , loves Katsuki Yuuri's bubble butt.

 

“It looks so soft,” Viktor wails into his fifth champagne. The server gives him a look that is pure judgment, but he is beyond caring. She's being paid to provide shitty alcohol to international athletes; some amount of drunken wailing is to be expected. Viktor downs the flute and swaps it for another.

 

“It's a pillow made from dreams,” Phichit confirms and it just isn't _fair_ that Phichit should know what it's like to rest his head on those gorgeous Katsuki Mounds (TM) and Viktor, his fiance, does not. “That's just college, you know.” Phichit justifies. No Viktor doesn't know. “Sometimes your bro gets wasted and you have to safety pin his shirt to his briefs to keep him from getting arrested. Sometimes your bro passes out in a park and you have T-rex arms and can't carry him back and you just crash right there on the nice convenient butt. It happens.”

 

Yuuri will not be going back to this 'college', not without Viktor there to safety pin his briefs and to nap on his butt when he sleeps in a park. He's calling spousal privilege on that one.

 

Actually, Viktor should probably check in on that. He's found that for some reason he and Yuuri are not entirely good with, you know, actual words and things. He'll need to make sure Yuuri knows that he _proposed_ -proposed and not, like, eternal friendship-proposed. That would be just awful. He could honestly picture getting all the way through their wedding vows and be at their honeymoon destination before Yuuri realizes that Viktor actually married-married and not friend-married him. If this is a friendgagement ring Viktor is going to shit an international gold medal brick, then march that hot little mister right back to that church and make him propose properly.

 

“So extra,” Phichit whispers like a prayer and Viktor snaps to present to realize he's been basically making out with his ring for a solid four minutes while staring across the banquet at Yuuri's butt. Phichit's been live-tweeting it.

 

“I must touch the butt,” Viktor declares.

 

“Hashtag Viktuuri,” Phichit agrees. “OTP.”

 

Across the room Chris touches the butt. The smirk he sends back is anything but innocent.

 

“Ooooh,” Phichit calls. His thumbs move faster than Viktor's eyes can follow and the camera shutter sound clicks more than a scuttling beetle. “A challenger appears! Hashtag Christuuri? Oh _myyy_ it doesn't look like Mattheiu is bothered by this turn of events! Could it be Hashtag Chrismatturi? Is this the start of a Katsuki Swiss Sandwich? Get some, my son!”

 

Viktor is really regretting insisting on tailored pants.

 


	2. Chapter 2

“You will always have a place to sit,” Viktor begins. Six feet away Yurio looks up with murder in his eyes and a skate blade held threateningly in his hand. He could cross those six feet in far less time than it would take someone to call security. Viktor has a sudden, uncommon, moment of self-preservation. “As long as I have a lap. You can sit in it. My lap. Anytime.”

 

Yuuri is completely oblivious to the byplay behind him. Yurio gestures his skate blade slowly across across his own throat. Viktor smiles sunnily and begins to sweat a little.

 

“I wouldn't want to squish you,” Yuuri protests.

 

Please squish me, Viktor thinks as hard as he can. Please please squish me. Yurio begins to speak softly in his mother tongue, which bears an uncanny resemblance to a tea kettle.

 

Yuuri leans over to unlace his skates. Viktor has read so much fic, _so much fic_ , about that tiny little strip of skin above Yuuri's pants line that shows when his shirt rides up. It is literally God's perfect frame for that butt. The tips of Viktor's fingers itch.

 

“I'm much stronger than I look!” he insists. Both Yu(u)ri's eye him skeptically, which he thinks is completely unfair. He'd only dropped Yuuri during their exhibition practice once. And sort of fumbled him once but that was a coordination thing not a strength thing. “It'd be the chair doing the hard part!”

 

“Then he can sit on the chair, moron!”

 

“He can sit on my lap anyway!”

 

The world is not fair, Viktor thinks as Yurio herds Yuuri out of the rink loudly demanding food like the unwanted housepet he is.

 


	3. Chapter 3

Viktor hates squats. Normal squats. Jump squats. Barbell squats. Hate.

 

Part of it is that Yakov always used them like a punishment. Viktor _hated_ standing in one place, staring up and down a vertical strip of one wall for how ever long it took to make his leg muscles hate his guts. He wanted to be doing things: skating, dancing, _suicides until he horked_ , literally anything except standing in one place for basically ever. Yakov absolutely knew how much it drove him crazy and tended to banish Viktor to weights whenever he became too unbearable. Another part of it is the memory of a scrawny redhead girl squatting more than he can bench, grinning smugly at him in the mirror and commenting on whether or not it's legal for someone with such turkey legs to wear shorts and inflict them on others.

 

A third, brand new, part involves Viktor not even doing squats.

 

“Tighten your core, Yuuri,” he says in coach voice and it's really the last thing he wants to be saying right now. “Mind your form.” Trouble is, Yuuri's form is perfect. And he's also exhausted from a long, frustrating day and cranky with his progress with his quad flip. So Viktor can't just, you know, reach out and 'correct' his form because he'll be snappish and unhappy and will sleep with Makka pointedly between them tonight. Viktor loves his puppy so much, but Makkachin likes to roll over and put her head on Yuuri's tush and that's just betrayal.

 

So Viktor has to stand about a quarter centimeter out of arms' reach and 'coach' Yuuri through his squats. While Yuuri is wearing a faded five-year old t-shirt with 'Manic Pixie Dream Tarantula' stretched across his chest and a pair of shorts to match. The shorts say 'Creepy'. On the Butt. Viktor knows this because at squat 18 Yuuri glared pissily at him and turned to face the wall.

 

The shorts hem ends right above where Yuuri's quadriceps tighten smoothly with each push upward. They're shiny with perspiration and still cleanly defined from the end of the competitive season. Viktor can see everything. Viktor says nothing. Tonight he will drink to forget.

 

“Time to move on to-”

 

“ _Forty six,_ ” Yuuri hisses pointedly. “ Forty _seven_. Forty _eight_.”

 

Viktor really really, _really really really_ hates squats.

 


	4. Chapter 4

Viktor really could never hate Hiroko-mama. For one, she'd taken one look at him on that cold morning in April and pronounced him Vicchan and has treated him sort of like the spare son she'd had stashed away for a special occasion. For another, Yuuri clearly gets his smile from her and Viktor's heart has a Pavlovian response to it. ('Doki doki', he informs Yuri knowledgeably, who promptly screeches and stomps off to complain about sappy old men to Otabek on SNS.) Hiroko-mama is a tiny precious thing and Yuri and Viktor both would probably shiv a man for her with a smile on their faces and songs in their heart.

 

Still, while Viktor adores the tiny Japanese woman who basically went 'mine now' a solid eight months before her son did, it doesn't mean he was blind to her deviousness.

 

“Mama~” Viktor whines. He drapes across the kotatsu and paws weakly at the air next to her shoulder. He makes his eyes huge and watery and his bottom lip trembles. Hiroko-mama giggles and flashes _that_ smile, the one both Yuuri and Mari inherited that means _run_ and _evil things_.

 

“A gift for both my boys!” she sings and Viktor whimpers.

 

“You don't think it's a little... ostentatious?” Yuuri frets. He fidgets with silver-splashed waistband of the midnight black pants, shimmying to get the skin-tight fit to sit right. When he angles to see his rear in the mirror and bends to test the give, the tiny quarter skirt flips up to flash a hint of deep, sensual red.

 

Viktor chokes and slowly lowers his forehead to the table. Hiroko-mama pats his hair.

 

“Poor Vicchan,” she says with no sympathy and levels a sharp look at her (birth) son. “No!” She insists. “That costume was filled with good memories, this way you can keep it with you even when it has to go back in storage. Now you can wear it every day.”

 

Yuuri flushes. Viktor knows this without removing his head from the table. There's a certain quality of conversational pause that he's come to know means Yuuri is blushing. He can't look, he won't survive.

 

“I can't wear them every day mama, they must have been expensive! You would have had to custom order these!”

 

Hiroko-mama makes a rude noise and both men choke at the incongruity. “They are athletic clothes, you use them for doing athlete things. Do not store them under your bed in Russia, Yuuri, I will know.”

 

“Ma,” Mari calls and pokes her head in the door. “Old Man Yamamoto is out here forgetting we don't do sushi again. Huh.” She stops, then whistles lowly. “Nice pants little bro. Is that from the bondage costume?”

 

Yuuri flails and Viktor attempts to become one with the formica.

 

“Poor, poor Vicchan,” Hiroko-mama murmurs and pats his hair some more. “What will you do when he wears the one from your prince costume?”

 

“ _Mama~!”_

 


End file.
